


My Château d'If

by Cyane



Category: Le Comte de Monte-Cristo | Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artistic Liberties, Chateau d'If, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, pardon my non-french-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyane/pseuds/Cyane
Summary: The Count and Maximilien travel to a small island, on a cliff overseeing the Château d'If, and Edmond tells the boy about his time there.





	My Château d'If

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I've taken a LOT of creative liberties with geography, politics, time period, etc. although TECHNICALLY this takes place sometime near the far end of the book.

On the island of Les Îles, in a small hotel complex running through Point d'Ourio, the Count of Monte Cristo and Maximilien Morrel were exchanging thoughts on a high balcony. 

The balcony, which faced the east and towards another, smaller isle, was large and obviously costly. The Count's tremendous wealth had hardly been scratched by the arrangement, even though the holiday was spread out over a week and he had paid for the finest of rooms for himself and for Maximilien.

The smaller isle that was mentioned before is not unfamiliar, and was known to all as the Château d'If. 

While Maximilien Morrel was moderately knowledgeable, based on city gossip, about the high rank prison, the Count of Monte Cristo was extensively cognizant. 

The two men stood, leaning against the rail of the balcony for some time, late into the night, scarcely speaking a word. The Count's silence had, at first, been intimidating for Maximilien, but after a long while of growing accustomed to the bizarre habits of the strange man, the quiet was somehow a comfort. 

The lights of Les Îles fell after nightfall, as the isle had never been as busy and late a city as Paris, but they remained there nonetheless. Maximilien faintly wondered how the older man still remained resilient, not showing an inch of frailty or tire, even after hours of standing, when Maximilien himself- just nearing thirty-three years of age- felt his legs begin to cramp beneath him. 

Maximilien could not bear the silence any longer. "Why have you brought us to Les Îles, of all places? Last I recall, we were looking to leave France. Les Îles is nowhere special."

"Ah, while Les Îles itself holds no formal use, it is the view that makes it important to our journey." The Count spoke uncharacteristically bluntly, and Maximilien was startled to see a far-off, almost dazed expression marring his face.  
"Look there, Maximilien," the Count murmured, pointing a long, cold finger out towards the sea. "The isle; do you know of it?"

"Why!" Maximilien exclaimed, squinting out at the body of land. It was incredibly small, and far out enough that he had not noticed it, covered in the dark night sky as it was. "That must be Château d'If, the prison!"

"Hmm," the Count hummed, as if the noise answered everything. 

The younger man frowned. "I still do not understand, Count."

The Count- whose eyes had not strayed from the darkening shadow of the Château d'If- lent one shaking hand to steady himself on the rail. Maximilien knew that the man never shivered of cold or fear.

"Count?"

"Hush, Maximilien, and I will explain it all. For you know of my most recent quest for vengeance: one that has taken me the majority of my life, one that took from me my love, Mercédés, and my morality. The plots I schemed against Baron Villefort and Danglars, Count Morcerf, and Caderousse the innkeeper and convict."

"I do." Maximilien said with reverence, remembering the promise of justice the Count had spoken of- how he vowed that God was fighting alongside the man. He believed every word of it, and had faithfully never asked for any type of explination. 

The Count of Monte Cristo sighed. "That, my friend, is where my schemes began. The Château d'If; the very cause of my transformance into who I have become. I was wrongfully accused of treason. Villefort, Danglars, Morcerf, and Caderousse all played their role in ensuring my captivity for many years there."

A shiver ran down Maximilien's spine at the thrilling story. "How in God's name did you get out, then? With the prosecutor wrongfully accusing you, along with three bystanders--!"

"-- _Hush_ , Maximilien- and do not blaspheme."

Maximilien nodded, red embarrassment dusting his face as he attempted to stay silent during the story once again. The Count smirked at his efforts and turned back to the ocean before continuing. 

"I had visited the Isle of Elba, while working as a sailor under your father, monsieur Morrel." The Count's eyes sparkled as he spoke fondly of the man, and Maximilien broke into a sad smile.

"This unrelated event was used by my fellow worker, the _Pharaon_ 's purser, monsieur Baron Danglars, who wrote a letter supposedly tipping me off. Fernand and Caderousse both played roles in this, and after my capture, Fernand took the beautiful Mercédés- my fiancé- as his wife.

I was taken to monsieur Villefort, who, although I did not know it at the time, burned the letter that both proved my innocence and put his own position in leadership at risk, for mention of his father, monsieur Noirtier, whom I know you are well acquainted with."

"My Valentine's grandfather."

"Yes. The letter was burned and I was sent away to Château d'If, which you see before you."

Maximilien leaned heavily against the rail as the seemingly separate events connected within his own mind. How Baron Villefort- Valentine's father- had played such a crucial role in the Count, Maximilien, and Noirtier's lives unknowingly was beyond the young man. 

He looked out at the barely visible Isle that they looked out on. 

Although dreading the answer, Maximilien summoned enough courage to voice the question: "For how long were you in the Château d'If, Count?"

Something in the older man seemed to break with the question, but Maximilien couldn't bring himself to regret asking it. If the man had been anyone other than the Count, he would be sure that the man was close to tears; yet, alas, it was the Count. His eyes glistened, but no tears dared to fall, and in a steady voice, he hoarsely said:  
"Twenty one years."

"Twenty one?" Maximilien choked out.

"I spent the first seven locked away, completely alone with my own tormented thoughts. I spent the next fourteen with an Abbot- Abbé Faria, who nurtured me into an intellectual, and showed me the truth of Baron Villefort's betrayal," The Count explained haggardly. He thought often about Faria, who had become his second father, after his own had passed from grief. While Faria had shown regret at implanting the seeds of vengeance, The Count-- _Dantés_ \-- felt satisfaction that he had completed what the Abbot could not; he had found the treasure of Ceasar Spada, and he had used it to play as the scourge of God.  
He had never forgotten that Faria... working as a tool of _God_ , had given him everything. 

Maximilien looked ill at the news, and the Count hurried to lighten the somber mood once again. "I promise you, Maximilien, that the last fourteen years I spent in the Château d'If were not as lonesome. Abbé Faria was a father to me, religiously and otherwise, save be through blood. It was unpleasant, but through the hardship, Edmond Dantés became the Count of Monte Cristo, and I lived a life far darker and fuller than the young, naïve boy would ever have."

"Does that mean you do not regret anything, Count? That you- that you are _grateful_ for it?" Maximilien gasped, eyes huge with anguished disbelief. "You cannot possibly see the light to a band of traitorous men and their fiendish lies!" 

The Count hummed again, thoughtfully. "I only truly saw the light after I had finished my work in Paris, Maximilien. I never killed directly, you see, but so many deaths can be traced back to my own actions. Most were my enemies, yes, and died according to my own machinations. But there are some, such as poor Edouard de Villefort, or Barrios, who were both innocent and meant to be free from my own vengeance. Although Madame de Villefort, Héloïse, was the one who poured the poison, murdering them both, these deaths still trace back to my own hand. After the death of Edouard, something I never could have foreseen nor wanted, I have been forced to reconsider what I have done. That is the true reason I took you with me, and left France, until this point."

"And why come back? Why now, of all times?"

The Count smiled humorlessly and gestured out to the Château d'If for the last time. "It is February, Maximilien. February twenty-eighth. Nearly twenty years ago, on this exact date, I escaped the Château d'If by disguising myself as the corpse of Abbé Faria and allowing myself to be hurled into the sea. I began my long-awaited plots of revenge, which I spent years further, perfecting and artfully watching follow through. Today is the anniversary of the day I became a free man, and this all truly began."

Maximilien forced a grin onto his face. "I'll drink to that, monsieur, for if you had not escaped that dreadful place, my father would never have lived to see his company and family flourish, and the Morrel name would have fallen. You saved my family, my father's company, and my father himself. But more recently, you have saved _me_ , for I was quite close to following in my father's footsteps after hearing of my dear Valentine's death. No matter how far you took your revenge- it was well deserved, and it's over now."

They looked away from the island in the distance as it clouded over in midnight fog. A more genuine smile made its way onto the Count's face.  
"That it is," he agreed quietly. "That it is."


End file.
